


Scars and Scrapes

by Cake_isnt_pie_sam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pre-Stanford, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cake_isnt_pie_sam/pseuds/Cake_isnt_pie_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was at sixteen when Sam knew he loved Dean. Not like a brother cause I mean, that was a given. Dean came home after hunting a vamp, covered in blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars and Scrapes

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't own Supernatural or the boys. Constructive criticism encouraged!)

It was at sixteen when Sam knew he loved Dean. Not like a brother cause I mean, that was a given. It was on a sunny afternoon in Wyoming and John left town for who knows how long. He had dropped Dean off at their rental home after taking out a vamp a few hours out. Dean had come home with blood all over him and Sam worried that some of it might be his brother’s. When Dean came through the door, he nodded his head in Sam’s direction and headed into the shower without a word.

Sam sat on the floor outside of the bathroom, hoping to God that Dean was okay. I mean, if he wasn’t Dad wouldn’t have just dropped him off and left, right? Sam waited for nearly an hour before Dean came out of the bathroom sporting only a towel.

Dean eyes Sam with a raised eyebrow. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Sam shook his head, trying not to stare. “Nah.” Yes. He stood, walking in a full circle around Dean.  
“What the hell are you doing?”  
  
“Nothing. Did you get hurt?” He couldn’t stop looking at all of the scars on Dean’s back and he knew the story for each one. Dean turned from him before he could think about them anymore.  
  
“Nah. I’m too good to get hurt by a stupid blood sucker,” Dean assured, walking toward a bag full of clothes. He grabbed a few and walked back into the bathroom.  
  
When he came back out, fully dressed, stuffing his towel into his duffel.  
  
“You’re gonna get the rest of your clothes wet, Dean. Why’re you putting your towel in there?”  
  
“’Cause I don’t want your skinny-ass usin’ it,” Dean replied, sitting on the edge of the bed to lace his boots.  
  
Of course that wasn’t a good enough answer. Sam wouldn’t use a wet towel when there’s another perfectly dry one in the bathroom. He walked over the duffel, unzipping it, and although Dean went to grab Sam’s arm, he shrugged it off.  
  
He pulled the white towel out and let it unroll. There was a big streak of blood on one side. Spinning around, he narrowed his eyes at Dean.  
  
“What the hell—“  
  
“It’s nothing,” Dean sighed, finishing lacing his boots.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Nowhere fatal.”  
  
“Does dad know?”  
  
“No. And you don’t say shit about it.”  
  
“Dean, you’re hurt,” Sam said, climbing on the bed and lifting Dean’s shirt up. “And I don’t see where…” he trailed off, seeing the edge of Dean’s jeans stained with blood. Sam reached and carefully pulled them down an inch or two, spotting a large gash in Dean’s hip, haphazardly stitched up with dental floss. Dean wasn’t stopping him, and although his body shifted a little, he didn’t say anything either. He stayed quiet, staring at the floor.  
  
“Like I said, it’s nothing,” Dean said slowly and quietly.  
  
Upon closer inspection, there were more scars—scars normally hidden by boxers and jeans—that Sam didn’t know the stories for. He lifted his fingers to lightly touch scars, not asking the questions he really wanted to ask. Dean still didn’t stop him.  
  
Sam’s throat felt tight. He wasn’t sure if it was because Dean’s skin was hot under his fingers or if it’s because all of the scars made him want to cry. Before he could figure out which, Dean turned around, facing Sam.  
  
“See, Sam? I’m okay.”  
  
Sam could only nod, sitting back on his palms.  
  
Dean moved up on the bed a little, hands resting on either side of Sam, palms face down on the bed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured Sam, watching Sam carefully.  
  
Sam went to nod, but had to ask. “You weren’t hunting a vamp were you.” It was more of an accusation than a question.  
  
Dean’s eyes darkened slightly. “So maybe it was a werewolf. Or four.”  
  
Sam’s eyebrows furrowed a little. “Careless.”  
  
“Sorry,” Dean said, moving up toward Sam a little more, almost over him.  
  
“No you’re not,” Sam said, frowning.  
  
“I don’t try to worry you, Sammy. You know that.”  
  
“Do I?”  
  
“Yes,” Dean assured him.  
  
Sam’s eyes flickered to the scar on Dean’s left shoulder, something he got when he wasn’t on a hunt. Although it was barely visible, it was the only scar Sam could remember that wasn’t from hunting.  
  
Dean fell out of a tree when he was twelve, trying to get Sam. Sam had climbed up too high and got stuck. Dean climbed up and hurt himself on the way up; he fell out of the tree twice before actually helping Sam out. A branch stabbed him and neither of them noticed until they were both safely out of the ground. They laughed about it for twenty minutes before Dean finally pulled it out.  
  
Sam smiled to himself at the memory, touching the scar with his fingers.  
  
“You’re right,” Sam said, nodding.  
  
“I’m always right,” Dean said, pressing his lips to Sam’s slowly and firmly.


End file.
